


Front and Back

by Plume_Sombre



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Friendship, Humor, M/M, Romance, Xanlow Week 2016
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plume_Sombre/pseuds/Plume_Sombre
Summary: XanLow week 2016.Day 1: dance. / Xander admires Laslow's fighting style.Day 2: family. / Xander meets Olivia, and he has trouble containing his nervousness.Day 3: fear. / Laslow will absolutely not touch that thing.





	1. Flowery star

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I admit these drabbles aren't really shippy, but I hope you'll enjoy them all the same. Let's have a good XanLow week!!

Xander generally prefers training alone, hidden from anyone's eye. He likes to feel at peace and to be able to focus on every attack and strike and slash he makes; when he trains with soldiers, he's too self-conscious of their gaze and of the prospect of embarrassing himself if he makes a mistake. Mistakes in training are fairly normal, nothing to be alarmed about, but as the Crown Prince he takes his duty seriously, even if that means being perfect in front of the others. He has to be perfect.

This is why he understands Laslow's reluctance to dance in front of a crowd. He did ask multiple times for a performance, but his retainer only stuttered with a red face before crashing into a door and affirming he danced like a ham rolled down the stairs. Xander didn't have the heart to question the comparison, and instead helped his very embarrassed retainer. That doesn't mean the prince has given up on seeing Laslow dance.

Nevertheless, he thinks that the closest to a dance he will see is incorporated in the way Laslow moves in battle. Xander has never seen such graceful and swift steps while dodging an attack. Laslow is like a feather on his feet, light and careful, mindful of where he lands, deceiving his enemies with every step he takes, and his blade strikes them like an extension of his arm, precise and sharp. Not a single movement is useless. Xander has to admit Laslow's fighting skills are on par with any Nohrian soldier's, though he understood that the first time they met.

Lost in his daydreaming, Xander almost didn't see the Faceless lunging at him. One second later and Siegfried wouldn't have made it in time to cut the creature in half. He really needs to be careful when there are few enemies around—he easily gets distraced when he knows he can rely on his allies' strength and his retainers' capability. The sounds of the battle ring in his ears, but even amidst all this cacophony he still hears Laslow's sword clashing with a Faceless's fists, still hears the light steps of a dance that leaves the enemy confused. He imagines the number of intense training hours to perfect a style that doesn't quite fit a battlefield, doesn't quite fit a stage, but composes the quintessence of the man called Laslow. It's almost a shame that this beautiful display of moves can only exist because the war has shaped people the way they are, and the mercenary has polished his skills after slaying enemy after enemy.

Xander retreats back, leaving the last two monsters to Peri who is more than happy to oblige, and he goes up front to help his other retainer. The hooves of his horse make a distinct clacking sound. Laslow doesn't even stop in his twirling and slashing and sidestepping; he directs the fight as he pleases and stands on the right, leaving room on the left for Xander to freely fire his attacks. Against a heavier hitting opponent, he puts away his blade in an agile movement, blade neatly tucked against his hip in his sheath, and he goes for his other side to grab an axe that isn't as big as Camilla's, but it does the job and he swings it to chop the monster's arms off. Two successive blows to get rid of the fists as safely and quickly as possible. Not a single movement is useless.

Xander keeps his eyes forward, decimating everything in his field of view. Siegfried's power is valuable in situations like the one they're in; he can stun their enemies, and Laslow can finish them off. It has always worked. Laslow is faster than his lord, so he reaches the targets in three jumping steps, shifts on his legs and extends his arm that holds his weapon with the clear purpose of striking where the wound would be fatal. He rarely misses. He knows how to move, knows where to stand to optimize his hit rate, and everything feels so natural to him that Xander can't conjure up the double image of a laid-back man and of a focused soldier.

Despite that, Laslow is simply beautiful, shining under the dark sky that can swallow him, but didn't. He's a bright star.


	2. Warm as the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: family. / Xander meets Olivia, and he has trouble containing his nervousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the second drabble! I wanted to make Olivia gush about Xander, but I settled for something more casual... Just a small meeting between a mother-in-law and son-in-law!
> 
> Enjoy~

Xander doesn't look up from his teacup. He hasn't felt so nervous since he was a child; the return of a fast beating heart with a mind swirling with thoughts that knock against each other is not how he envisioned this meeting. If he opens his mouth, he will probably say something too stiff, too cold, too casual or too cordial; if he stays silent, the conversation won't be lead by itself; in short he has no idea how to handle the situation, despite the fact Olivia is smiling and is patiently waiting for him to compose himself. She's way too kind in that regard.

The prince of Nohr didn't expect Laslow's—Inigo's—mother to be so beautiful, so delicate, but it explains where his retainer got his gorgeous genes. She must be thirty at most; Laslow did say complicated events transpired in his world, and that he shouldn't dwell too much on the disparate ages between the real Olivia and the one he imagined.

“Your son is truly a capable man,” he blurts out, for lack of coherent thoughts.

Olivia giggles, her hand raising to her mouth and partly hiding it.

“Oh yes, Inigo is someone we can rely on,” he agrees. “He's a kind boy, and very loyal to his friends and allies.”

“That he is. I cannot recall all the times he protected me.”

This is probably not something a man should tall his future mother-in-law, but Xander is panicking so much that he can't do anything else than default to perfect and diplomatic prince to avoid any miscalculation. Laslow would probably yell at him for being so distant during a 'family meeting'. Maybe warning his lord beforehand instead of showing up with his mother at his side would have been a good idea? Xander needs to talk to Laslow about that.

“Some people see this as simple recklessness or sense of duty, but I assure you that Inigo has a golden heart, and if he chose you, it means he cares deeply for you,” Olivia continues. “Take care of him in return, alright?”

The sweetness rolling off Olivia's words strikes Xander right in the heart and his whole face heats up, realizing the task he's been asked to do while simultaneously processing the words themselves.

“I-I”ll do my best, madam,” he splutters, unable to meet the dancer's eyes.

“Please, call me Olivia,” she chuckles. “Prince Xander, for a man of your size and of your qualities, you are easily flustered... it's cute.”

Something pretty similar seems to happen to Olivia, as she quickly loses her cheerful smile, her eyes widen with what is certainly horror, and if Xander thought that Laslow couldn't conceal a blush from anyone, Olivia could serve as a checkpoint with the flamboyant red she's sporting.

“I-I-I'm sorry, that was very unmannerly of me to speak like this to a prince!” she stammers. “I-I mean, you are a very nice man, and it's easy to feel at ease when I think that you are Inigo's beloved, s-so I got carried away...”

A family shouldn't be so adorable, Xander concludes when he sees Olivia hide her burning face in her hands, in a very Laslow-like way. He suddenly feels closer to her, which helps him calming down, and rationalizing this meeting. He lets out a small chuckle, his lips forming a smile and his eyes shining with fondness.

“This is not a problem at all, Olivia. I am glad you are being honest with me, I would feel very awkward if you had to wisely choose your words around me.”

Olivia peeks from behind her fingers, her cheeks still alarmingly red, but she's not displaying any sign of further panic. She nods, the beginning of a smile (always a smile) stretching her lips.

“You and Laslow—I mean, Inigo? You both are alike in many aspects. He told me once that you were his role model, not only in dancing but also for life.”

“Ah, it's true that I apparently raised him almost by myself... but he may be exaggerating.”

Humble, gentle and caring; this is what a mother looks like. Bearing an infinite love for her child, seeking his well-being and protecting him from the world's harm. Xander remembers his mother, he knows she loved him dearly, but it's been so long. So long, he forgot what the warmth of a mother feels like. He links his hands together, all traces of nervousness vanished.

“I will not disappoint you, or your son,” he declares. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Olivia finally lowers her hands, the expression on her face completely open, sincere, bright. She's dazzling.

“Thank you for loving my son,” she says.

 


	3. Small as it may be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: fear. / Laslow will absolutely not touch that thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all agreed on doing something funny for this prompt lmao. Probably to keep the angst for the next two prompts?  
> Anyway, I had fun writing this, so I hope you'll like it as well!!

Laslow is bored. There is nothing to do in Lord Xander's quarters, except watching the floor and the flickering light of a candle at night. The bookcases are full of works that are about either politics, either classical literature too wearisome to read. It's not like he could snatch a book and read, anyway. Gods, getting punished for what he does everyday is so unfair... There has been only one complaint! Maybe two... or five... In any case, Lord Xander is really cruel to just let him be, dying of boredom while he's out training or doing his princely duties. Laslow sighs and picks himself from the ground, sruveying the room with a critical eye. Everything is neatly put away, with no wasted space. The maids probably spend a significant amount of time to tidy up, though he doubts his lord is messy when he works. When he did see him work, he was stuck to his desk, hand writing various papers that seem both important and troublesome. Well, being the Crown Prince comes with its lot of difficulties.

Something black near the desk catches his eye, though, in this clean room in brown and golden colors. Is it a dried blood stain? That would be quite alarming if his lord bled in his room and he wasn't aware of the cause. He gets closer, squinting. He can't see well with the color of the floor that sort of gets mixed with the stain. So he crouches down.

And prompty stands back up with a scream that probably alerted the whole castle.

He takes small steps back, his legs threatening to buckle any moment from now on, and he restrains his desire to simply bolt out the room and to live far away from this place. How can this thing be here, with everything else so clean?! Did someone want to play a prank on Lord Xander? How is it posible?!

He should move it. He should rid Lord Xander's room of nasty things. He can do it.

He slowly approaches the black form again, swallowing hard, hands sweaty and he's definitely freaking out. He's a soldier, a mercenary, a retainer, for god's sake! Small threats like this one shouldn't be an issue—

“Laslow, I heard you scream, is everything all right?”

The dancer jumps five meters on the side with another rather unmanly yelp. He stares at Lord Xander, thoroughly shaken by all the emotions that he's undergoing far too early in the morning, and when he fails to say anything, Lord Xander sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Did you break anything in the room? I assure you that I will not be mad.”

The thought of breaking anything is actually scarier than the current problem for whatever reason, so Laslow quickly refutes his lord's assumption.

“No, no, that's not it! It's just—there's a—that stuff near your desk! We have to get rid of it!”

Lord Xander looks very confused, which is understandable with the way Laslow is waving his arms like a distressed drowning person. He looks where Laslow is pointing, and his eyes narrow.

“Are you making a scene because there is a cockroach in my room?” he asks, bemused. “Laslow, this is a simple insect. How can you be so afraid of something small and inoffensive?”

“Small and inoffensive? Excuse me, Milord, but that thing is ugly and sneaky and downright evil! Have you ever tried to catch one because it was flying freely in your vital space? Or, have you ever stumbled upon the eggs of a cockroach you failed to notice before? It can still happen if we let it here!”

Lord Xander shakes his head before his retainer's antics, and crouches in turn, inspecting the insect like some sort of specimen. It's unmoving, doesn't look harmful in any way...

“It is probably dead. You were afraid of a corpse,” he points out.

Laslow closes his mouth and stills. Lord Xander isn't in any immediate danger, so it's probably safe to get closer to the blasted thing one more time... ? He takes place next to his lord, looks intensely at the cockroach. Then the wings spread like it's suddenly alive and it flies onto the desk, not missing to make a screaming Laslow fall on his butt with ungraceful moves and voice that question his validity as a dancer. He goes as far as clinging onto his lord's sleeve, who doesn't seem amused at all by the situation (neither is Laslow, but well).

“You are overreacting, Laslow!” Xander groans. “You are a grown man fighting in a war!”

“Fighting in a war is drastically different from dealing with that evil thing!” Laslow yells. “I'm sorry Lord Xander, I'll have to let you take care of this one! I'll watch your back all you want during battle, but I can't participate in this one!”

Laslow is honestly unable to make a single movement to handle the situation. When the cockroach was unmoving it was bearable, but knowing that it can now fling itself at his face paralyzes all rational thoughts and all he can do is ask his lord to dispose of it. Nothing can quite describe the sheer terror that fills him when he sees the insect making its way through the scattered papers on the desk. It's ugly in its essence, and the way it's moving is ugly as well!

Lord Xander sighs again, like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders (it probably is). This looks utterly ridiculous.

“I would not have guessed that your weakness is insects...”

“Cockroaches only!” Laslow clarifies.

“This is still very surprising and not quite what I imagined when I heard your scream filled with agony.”

“I wasn't that scared...”

He totally was, but he can't admit it to his lord. So he stays silent while Lord Xander gets up, closes the gap between him and the cockroach, doesn't even hesitate for half a second before grabbing it like he's grabbing his pen (“You're going to crush it, Milord! That's disgusting!”), opens the window singlehandedly and throws the object of their grief into the distance. The room is located on the first floor; Laslow doesn't care if the cockroach survives the fall or not.

“Here, all taken care of,” Lord Xander indicates.

Laslow stands, trying to salvage the little dignity he has left, but the way Lord Xander looks at him shows that he displayed an entertaining performance. That only makes him self-conscious of the past ten minutes, but thankfully his face doesn't reflect the fire he's feeling.

“I-I'm really sorry, Lord Xander, that was rather pathetic of me,” he mumbles.

“Don't dwell too much on it,” the prince assures. “Besides... it was actually endearing.”

This time, Laslow is pretty sure that the smile he sees is mischievous (mischievous, Lord Xander!) and that his face is as red as a tomato.

“T-That's not like you to say something like this, Milord!”

And all he hears is Lord Xander's laugh, low but sincere.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I always headcanon Inigo's dad as Chrom, so my inspiration for this was the sibling support with Lucina. :'D


End file.
